A knock came from a few feet away. Largo rubbed her mess of hair, groaning.
"Miss Largo!" an unfamiliar voice cried. "Get up!" Largo sighed and pulled back the covers. She stood up and stretched. She felt as if she had slept for weeks, and upon looking in the mirror, she looked like it, too. Wait a second, she thought. Something was wrong. She rubbed her eyes and looked closer into the mirror. Her face had cleared up! She had battled blackheads on her nose for the longest time, and just like that, they were gone. Largo raised her eyebrows, then shrugged and went into the bathroom to do her makeup. She knew she was different somehow, and it wasn't just her skin. It wasn't that her hair had grown out of the short, uneven bob, either. She felt different, as if she had just gone swimming for several hours. Her eyes burned from the deep sleep, but she had to believe what she was seeing.
"Miss Largo!" the voice called again. "You're gonna be late!" Largo gasped. Late for what? She jumped up and quickly did her makeup and threw on a wide-necked black sweater and grey pinstripe trousers. She also laced up her Converse All-Stars and tightened a chain belt around her waist. She knew that, for a teenager, she was dressed like a forty-year-old trying to look younger, but it had to do. Largo grabbed her bag and ran out the door into a long hotel hallway.
"Miss Largo!" A young girl with blonde hair cried. She threw her arms around her and squealed. Largo looked at her. She knew her from somewhere, but from where? She couldn't put her finger on it.
"Hello," a tall, lanky brunette girl said in a low country accent. "You gun' be drectin' us agin tuhday?"
Largo looked dumbstruck. The girl adjusted her belt buckle, obviously from some big rodeo thing, and looked at her. "I don't know," she finally answered. "Am I?"
"Well, yeah," the girl said. "Miz Larguh, if ya need a ride down to da cenner, juss say da word an' da drecter'll drive ya."
"Well, okay, I guess I can ride with you guys," Largo replied. She was a little puzzled by the entire situation. She could've sworn she wasn't doing any of this yesterday. She couldn't even remember where she was yesterday. She followed the brunette and the blonde out of the building and toward a black suburban. A boy with dark glasses and long black hair lay asleep in the backseat. The blonde girl giggled and shook him. "Wake up!" she said. He looked up lazily, and then dozed off again. "Come on!" she said. "Mr. King's gonna be out here soon!"
Mr. King? That name sounded so vaguely familiar to her. Where had she heard it? Where had she seen all of these people before? It was like meeting a long-lost relative; it was just like meeting any other person, but the odd sensation that followed was impossible to ignore. Largo looked up at the Holiday Inn she had just exited. Its plain white walls were lit up with the pretty purple hue that the early morning sunrise projected upon it. The highways alongside it were busy with morning traffic, as people were bustling trying to make it to work on time.
"BEEP BEEP!" The suburban's doors unlocked. Largo jumped. She heard footsteps approaching from behind her. She whirled around quickly, only to see a man with glasses and a head of rumpled dark brown hair. He wore a pink shirt and khakis, and he looked very angry.
"RYN!" he bellowed. "GET YOUR BUTT IN THE CAR!" Frantically, Largo jumped into the car, not knowing what else to do. The blonde girl, obviously called Ryn, climbed in after her. However, the brunette took her time, and the man let her do as she pleased. She must be a senior, Largo thought. He climbed into the driver's seat, with the brunette getting into the passenger seat after him. The man turned and looked at Largo scornfully. What was his problem, anyway?
"Yo, Brittany, who's that?" Largo heard him ask the brunette.
"Oh, uh, Mistuh King, dis is Miz Larguh!" Brittany replied. Largo froze. There was no telling what Mr. King was going to do now, especially in his current mood.
"Miss Largo?" he said. His face twisted into an odd, toothy grin. His sad-looking brown eyes turned up. "HEY! I woulda never recognized you!" They shook hands. "I'm sorry 'bout my hostility this morning. I'm not a mornin' person, let me tell ya."
"Mistuh King. GO. NOW." Brittany said. "We ain't gun' be late tuh practice agin."
Mr. King did as he was instructed. The brunette, who couldn't have been older than high school age, was bossing this guy around. It was actually a pretty funny sight, but knowing the kind of temper that he had, it was a little scary, too. Mr. King tried to make polite conversation, but he was always a bit irritating. "So, how old are you again?" he asked.
"Twenty-six," Largo replied. She covered her mouth immediately. Twenty-six? She wasn't going to get away with this. She was only fourteen! There was no way he was going to believe her.
"Oh, really?" he said. "Awesome! You're two years older than me. And you've accomplished this much?"
"Oh, yes, I've done many things of this caliber in other places," she said. Largo couldn't believe what she was saying. Surely this wasn't coming out of her mouth. Surely this was some twisted-up dream. "In fact—" She clapped her hand over her mouth before she could say any more.
"You were saying?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing," Largo said. "It wasn't that important."
"No really, what were—"
"Oh, look! There's the convention center!" Largo shouted, pointing up ahead. The convention center? Who was she, John Malkovich? Where were all of these off-the-wall statements coming from? Largo shook her head to herself as they pulled into the parking lot.
Mr. King sighed. "Here we are, ladies. Go to your rehearsal sites, enjoy yourself, and don't eat too much of Spike's chocolate. Michelle and I are gonna take y'all to Olive Garden later." Ryn giggled and hugged Mr. King. Apparently, he wasn't a hugging person, because he pulled her off of him as if she were a pile of slop that had just been thrown at him. Largo's feet took her where she needed to go, and she just looked around. There were cars parked for miles and miles, and the large building she had seen from the highway loomed high above her head. She walked into the building. She was greeted immediately by the sounds you would usually hear in a convention center. People clamored and bustled every which way, and students carrying musical instruments were everywhere. The smells of various foods and sounds of odd music accessories filled the air. The walls were crowded with booths selling everything from mugs with treble clefs on them and songsheets to tremolos, sitars, and balalaikas. It was like nothing Largo had ever seen.
Largo's feet led her into a concert hall, where she walked up onto the stage. She stepped up onto the podium. Over a hundred high school students sat before her. What was she to do? She was only fourteen years old! Or was she twenty-six? She didn't even know who she was anymore, or how in the world she ended up atop the podium, apparently directing the All-State band. She had indeed been absent yesterday. It was all new to her. The worst thing of it all was that as a young and impressionable teenager, how was she supposed to direct an All-State band? She looked out at the students before her. Ryn waved at her from the front row of clarinets, and Brittany fingered her music from the back clarinets. The dark-haired boy that had been asleep in the back of the suburban was dozing off in the back row of trombones. She felt a little better, but it didn't help her courage. Where was that aggressive person that possessed her when she was speaking to Mr. King on the way to the convention center? Why couldn't she channel them to help her direct this band? Nevertheless, it was too late to turn back; Largo shuffled through the music scores on the stand in front of her. She cringed, noticing that the music was nothing but black dots to her. Sure, she could read music, but this music was crazy.
"Good morning," Largo said, suddenly. "I hope you all had a wonderful night last night exploring the city, shopping and all those things. I also hope you all got a good night's sleep, because we're going to try to run through all of our pieces today." The students shuffled through their music as she spoke. "Let's start with 'Le Chaton dans la Fenêtre,'" she said. "Let's run through it right quick. Remember, this is a very emotional piece, which is why I picked it for you to play. Now, clarinets, remember your dynamics, and keep them even. And trumpets, short in the eighth page. You seemed to drag yesterday. Nobody wants to hear a trumpet drag, I tell you, nobody! Okay, here we go." Largo raised her baton, her heart pounding violently. "One, two, ready, and—" The band started playing. Largo felt her cheeks flush, and a chill ran up her spine. Never in her life had she heard such beautiful music. Then again, these students were the best musicians in the state; they were supposed to be meticulous about their music.
"Wonderful! Bravo!" Largo exclaimed. "However, I have a few suggestions to make. Let's listen to the clarinets in the last few measures. I need to check up on that. A few of you sounded slightly sharp in some places." The clarinets played the measures perfectly in tune, fixing the minor spots that Largo had pointed out. She lowered her baton and smiled out at the eager faces before her. They didn't in the least suspect that she was the youngest one in the room. Maybe she really was twenty-six years old. Maybe she was this outstanding musician that everyone believed her to be.
"Tell you what." Largo finally said. "I'm gonna give you all a thirty-minute break. Go indulge yourself in music, culture, and Spike's chocolate." Ryn giggled and left the auditorium as she was instructed.
After every student had evacuated the concert hall, Largo went out to explore the center. She browsed through booths with ideas on teaching woodwinds, tuning methods, fundraising, and many other things music-related. Further down, a crowd of students were gathered around a booth where an old man was handing out chocolate samples. There was even an entire corner devoted to the history of the reed. "Hmm…" she murmured. However, she shivered a little when she said that; someone close by had mimicked her. Largo looked around, but she didn't see anyone. She continued to read, advancing into woodwinds of the middle ages.
"Did you know," a strikingly familiar voice said from behind her. "That the reed's ancestors are those little dillys you see stickin' up out of the riverbanks?" Largo turned, only to see the most familiar face of all staring her down. That thick-jawed grin was unmistakable; she definitely knew this man from somewhere. "In prehistoric times, the early people used them to call members of their tribes," he continued. He clasped his hands. Well, I guess I'm spoiling the exhibit for you, so I'd better stop." He blinked a few times, smiled again, and started to walk off.
"No!" Largo cried, suddenly. She blushed quickly. "Tell me more. Besides, that's a lot to read over there, anyhow."
"I suppose you know enough already," the man said. "You are, after all, the director of the top State band."
"Maybe," Largo replied, tossing her hair, "but I can't possibly have as much experience as those my senior."
"Hmm," the man replied, stroking his chin. "Where did you go to college?" he looked at her eagerly.
Largo didn't know what to say. She hadn't ever been to college. She was only in middle school. She looked up at the ceiling, noticing that the sun shone right through it and cast a warm glow on the entire interior of the center. "Stephen F. Austin in Nacogdoches," Largo said without thinking. "I was in the band under the direction of Dr. Allen. I also marched with the piccolo." Where was all of this information coming from? Largo had never even touched a piccolo, much less been allowed to play it. Moreover, she had never had any intentions of going to a smaller college, especially in Texas.
"Hey!" the man said. "I did, too! Except, of course, I played the clarinet." He grinned. Largo was driving herself crazy! She had never heard any of this information she was belting out before. In addition, this man was so familiar to her, it was unreal. She couldn't stand the position she was being put into by all of these people who looked up to her. She had to evacuate this strange place before someone realized that she was not this famous conductor at all, but just another petty eighth grader who somehow managed to wind up at the biggest music convention she had ever seen.
"Well," Largo said, uneasily. "I suppose I'd better hurry back. I gave the students a break, and it's just about time for them to come back." She smiled at the man, who gave her another one of those prominent grins.
"Maybe I'll run into you later, by perchance," he said.
"Hmm. Maybe so," Largo tossed her hair and headed back to the concert hall, dazed and confused.